


Forget Me Not

by castielrisingabove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Amnesia!Cas - Freeform, Angst, Dean making bad decisions, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Panic, Gen, M/M, Sam Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 10:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8010892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielrisingabove/pseuds/castielrisingabove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is found wandering the desert, his memory completely gone, leaving the Winchesters to try to figure out what they can do to help. But when Dean discovers a way to not only restore, but to alter Castiel’s memories, he’s left with a choice: does he give Cas the truth, or a happier life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DeanCasTropeFest2016. Art by the fantastic Stopwatch. Check it out [here](http://muninnhuginn.tumblr.com/post/150260155944/this-is-my-art-for-rise-fallen-angels)

“He...what?”

It’s the middle of summer and Dean’s stripped down to a mere t-shirt, wiping his forehead as he squats to examine Castiel, who’s still managed to wear his trench coat, despite the heat. They’re at a park in...where was it? Albuquerque? San Antonio? No, those are too big.

 _Kanab_ , Dean’s memory supplies. It’s not much, some tiny town in the south end of Utah, surrounded by red rock and, oddly enough, various signs about movies shot in the area.

This might have been somewhat interesting, Dean’s become a sucker for classic Western films after finding a few in the Bunker, if it wasn’t for the more pressing matter at hand.

“He doesn’t seem to remember anything,” Sam repeats. He sits on the picnic table next to them, anxiously scrolling through his phone. His brother is oddly calm, though he always seems to be calmer when he’s got access to Internet. Something about “not having to fear the unknown,” or some other bullshit. Even though right now, “the unknown” is about all they’ve got, even with the internet on their side.

It had all started with a call from Cas about a week ago. The angel had gotten a lead on where his grace might be, Lake Mead, Nevada, and was anxious to find it. His stolen grace was running out and time was of the essence; Castiel was ready to move forwards without the Winchesters as backup. Dean had begged, all but demanded, that Cas stay put, but the ex-angel never committed.

Dean had dragged Sam out the door mere hours after the phone call.

The drive took about a day, with the Sam and Dean taking turns speeding. By the time they made it to Lake Mead, however, Cas was nowhere to be found. What was more, he wasn’t picking up his phone or answering any of the frantic prayers sent his way (mainly by Dean, though Sam contributed). After two days of searching, Dean had been about to summon another angel and demand answers when Sam picked up a police report on a man in Kanab, a town roughly four hours north, who was clad in a trench coat despite the heat, wandering the town and scaring both residents and tourists alike.

After a phone call with local police, where Dean learned that the man, while not only having dark hair and piercing blue eyes, was only speaking in a foreign tongue, they’d made their way to Kanab to retrieve Cas. And that’s where things started to get even worse.

Physically, Cas looked fine. His clothes were clean and oddly unrumpled. His hair stuck out in every direction, but that seemed to be more a consequence of him running his hands through his hair than it was any eminent danger. Given how good he looked despite the trek across the burning desert, Dean could only surmise Castiel had managed to get his grace back.

Which should have been a good thing. But mentally...Castiel wasn’t the same man at all. He didn’t even look at Dean or Sam when they found him in the small holding cell. When they informed him they were getting him out, Castiel squinted, blue eyes suspicious, before muttering something in Enochian. Dean’s stomach had sunk to his shoes as the realization hit him:

Castiel had no idea who they were.

Still, despite not recognizing him, Cas was oddly complacent. He allowed the Winchesters to lead him from the jail, Dean making an apology for his crazy “brother” to the security guard while Sam made a scandalized noise, and even allowed them to lead him to a nearby park. Which was when Dean knelt at Cas’ feet, trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

“He can’t have lost his memory,” Dean replies, snapping his fingers in front of Cas’ unresponsive face in an attempt to...well...he wasn’t quite sure. Get his attention, maybe? Cas’ blue eyes blink slowly, as though only after the sound he realized he was supposed to react a certain way. “C’mon, Cas,” Dean mutters, “You gotta respond somehow.”

Cas’ brow furrows and he mumbles something in Enochian.

“I mean...” Sam sighs, watching them from a safer distance. He can’t help but sense Dean’s more than a little stressed about the situation and has decided to stay out of potential harm’s way, “It could be something else, but…”

He cuts himself off and continues to scroll through his phone, searching for answers. Sam’s not sure what’s worse, seeing Cas so out of it, or seeing Dean so worked up about it. Logically, Dean should know by now that things are never easy for the Winchesters and Cas has somehow gotten himself tangled up in all of their shit. Then again, Dean’s been searching for some sort of miracle to make up for kicking a newly human Castiel out of the Bunker and the grace, well, the grace was supposed to be that miracle.

Except, apparently, that backfired too.

“We’re gonna take you back to the Bunker,” Dean’s got both hands on Cas’ knees and he’s practically begging, “I, uh, I don’t know if you eat, but there’s gonna be all the food there for you. Honey and peanut butter and that spicy jerky I saw you eyeing at the gas station you worked at…”

A young mother who stands at the nearby playground, glances from her two small children to the Winchesters at the tables. Sam gives an awkward wave. When she looks away, he nudges Dean with his foot, a signal that it’s really time for Dean to try calming down.

Dean doesn’t take the hint.

He grips Castiel’s shoulders and begins shaking the angel. “What the hell are you doing, man? Cut it out! This isn’t funny anymore!”

The mother is staring again, concern clearly etched on her face as her hand drifts to the pocket that holds her phone. Sam’s not exactly interested in dealing with the cops, especially not after they lied through their teeth to get Castiel into their custody, so he slides off the table, stepping in to pry Dean away from Cas.

“You have to pull yourself together!” he hisses, giving Dean a death glare. One palm rests on Dean’s shoulder, the other on Cas’. Dean glares back while Cas simply stares vacantly into the distance. “We’ll take him home. We’ll fix this.”

Dean sags under Sam’s hand and suddenly it’s clear just how tired he seems. “What if we can’t fix this, Sammy?” his voice is soft, an unusual edge of vulnerability to it. “Cas could be broken forever!”

An odd expression crosses Castiel’s face, the slightest dark shadow at the reference of not being adequate. Dean immediately catches on, a flash of guilt crossing his face, his hand softly cupping Cas’ other shoulder. “I mean...not broken, buddy. We’ll always keep you. I just…” he sighs, “Screwed you over again, huh?”

Cas mumbles a little in Enochian and presses two fingers to Dean’s forehead to heal him.

“Let’s get him back to the car,” Sam says gruffly. The young mother looks beyond concerned at the goings on at the picnic table. He helps Cas to his feet and Dean follows an uncomfortably close distance behind.

When they reach the car, it’s decided to give Cas the entire back row. Sure enough, the angel sprawls out once inside, one leg dangling awkwardly off the seat, the other curled across the middle. It can’t be comfortable, but Sam decides against saying something. Dean looks tense enough as it is, bringing up Cas’ newly found ability to sit as incorrectly as possible seems like a bad idea.

Sam opens his mouth to speak, then instead simply turns on the radio.

The drive turns out to be as unenjoyable as Sam expects. Dean turns up the music in an attempt to drown out the myriad of muttered prayers he was uttering, gruff pleas for Castiel to return to normal. To talk to him. Show him a sign at least, something to prove he remembered the Winchesters.

Nothing.

“We’ll fix him up somehow, Dean.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “I know,” he murmurs, “I have to make this all better.”

 _We both have to make this all better_ , Sam thinks, but he doesn’t correct him.

 

\----

 

It’s 2 AM by the time they pull into the Bunker, the lights of the Impala reflecting off the garage. Dean’s driving and Sam is passed out in shotgun, large shaggy head pressed awkwardly against the window frame. Dean glances in the back as he twists the key, turning off the car. Cas is draped across the back, blue eyes staring lazily out the window.

“Cas, buddy, you here with me?” Dean whispers, trying not to rouse Sam.

Castiel’s eyes drift to Dean’s face. He squints, as though trying to make out Dean’s features from a far distance, clear blue eyes devoid of any recognition. This, more than anger or sadness, pierces Dean to his core. Anger, at least, could be reconciled.

“Dammit, Cas!”

Dean slams his fist against the car horn, the sharp _honk_ jerking Sam from his slumber.

“What’s happening?” Sam’s voice is still bleary from sleep. Castiel continues to stare at Dean, however, reaching out as though to heal him again.

And suddenly it’s too much, the Impala too small. It feels as though Dean’s run out of air and all he can think is he can’t. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. He certainly can’t look into those familiar eyes and see pure confusion. Not right now.

Dean fumbles with his seatbelt, unstrapping it and swinging the door open with a sort of abandon he’s rare to exhibit. Even in the middle of a hunt, Dean’s always careful with the Impala--a hasty opening could easily end up in a scrape or a dent along the surface. But tonight is different. Gone is the single-minded focus that creeps in during hunts, instead Dean’s thoughts and emotions scramble at a frantic pace.

Barely able to breathe, he all but falls out of the car, making his way to his room without a second glance. It’s not fair to Sam, of course, leaving his half-awake brother with a drooling mess of an angel who can’t even seem to sit up correctly, but Dean doesn’t want to deal with that. In fact, in the clouds of panic and guilt, he’s come up with a, well...it’s a pretty terrible plan, but it’s something.

He makes his way into the library, thanking whatever force in the universe might be looking out for them that Sam had been working to label and organize the shelves of books. Past vampires and ghosts, past werewolves and demons, to a tiny section of lore on angels. Apparently most of the Men of Letters shared a view of angels similar to the one Dean had possessed prior to meeting Cas: that angels didn’t exist. Of the few books that rested in the library on the topic, most were shrouded in myth and vague hearsay.

Still, one in particular stands out. Dean wouldn’t have thought anything of the book at first glance. It isn’t all that thick and the binding was worn and ripped. But before Dean had ejected Cas from the Bunker, he’d seen the ex-angel reading it intently, the scowl on his face evident that he could find no humor in the pages within. Dean had kept track of the book after Cas left, secretly hopeful it might hold some important secrets on understanding Cas.

Those secrets can wait, though. Right now, Dean has one thing he needed to find: an angel summoning spell. Fixing Cas himself is out of his depth and he doesn’t dare send out a prayer for just any angel to hear. Too many seem to want Cas’ hide in the painful aftermath of Cas accidentally helping to facilitate their collective fall.

Dean flips the pages so fast it’s a wonder he doesn’t rip any. His eyes skim titles like “Angel Wing Grooming” and “Flight Patterns” until he finds a spell that’s adequate. The ingredients aren’t exactly simple, who the hell has lamb’s blood laying around?, but Dean’s confident between the Bunker and the Internet, that he’ll have something together by tomorrow night. He’s making a mental list of things he has and things he’ll need when--

“What the hell, man?”

Sam stands in the doorway, arms crossed. His face is scrunched in a familiar expression of sheer irritation. Cas stands a couple steps behind him, swaying slightly as he follows Sam like a lost puppy.

“You ditched us for the library? What kind of screwed up deal are you planning this time?”

It’s almost scary how well Sam knows him. Dean. doesn’t even try to hide it, holding the book open as he makes his way to Sam. “Not quite a deal…”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, “Absolutely not. There’s no way we’re dealing with those winged assholes again. Especially when we’ve got Cas on the line this time.”

Dean grits his teeth. “Sam, you know as well as I do that whatever’s wrong with Cas has got to be because of his grace! We’re out of our depth on this one.”

“Dean…”

“We’d be safe about it,” Dean’s shifted his strategy to begging, “We’d summon Hannah, we’d do it in some random warded warehouse, we’ll do everything we can to be safe.”

Sam hesitates. After everything that’s happened, the last thing he wants to deal with is another angel. But the look on Dean’s face is heartbreaking and unfamiliar. It’s rare that Dean gets this worked up about anything.

“Fine. We do it. But we’re making coffee first.”

They stay up all night; Sam tirelessly painting sigils on the inside of a barn near the Bunker while Dean tracks down the ingredients needed to summon Hannah. Both agree that it’s too dangerous to send up a prayer, especially with Cas out of commission. Still, they don’t trust leaving Castiel alone in the Bunker while they leave, so the angel stays with them, wandering the barn listlessly.

The conversations between Dean and Sam during the night are short and simple.

“Where’d you find this book, anyway?” Sam asks.

“Found Cas reading it a couple months back,” Dean crushes a bat skull in a mortar and pestle, “Figured it had to be useful, right?”

Sam merely hums in response, spraying another sigil with bright red spray paint.

Later: “You think this’ll work?” Sam asks as he scratches yet more sigils into the woodwork of the barn.

“It has to.”

 

\----

 

The sun’s rising by the time the preparations are in place. Dean takes a swig of coffee from a long since cooled thermos, coughing at the lukewarm liquid. Cas gives him a strange look and for a moment Dean’s heart leaps at the hope that the angel will say something, but Cas merely tilts his head and continues staring.

“You ready to go?” he asks Sam, handing his younger brother the thermos. Dean smirks as Sam proceeds to make the same mistake as him, face crumpling in disgust at the unfortunately cold coffee.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sam mutters, setting down the thermos and replacing it with an angel blade. Cas’ eyes go wide at the blade and he pulls one of his own.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice is tense as he notices the weapon drawn, “Maybe we should speed this up?”

Of course, the last thing they need while summoning a creature of immense power is a similar creature going rabid on them. Dean sends off a prayer to Cas out of habit, begging him to not attack. To Dean’s surprise, Castiel lowers the weapon, looking immensely confused.

 _Did I do that?_ Dean thinks to himself, but he has little time to muse on this development, however, when Sam tersely barks, “Dean! Let’s do this.”

Dean nods, turning his attention away from the angel and to the book laid out before him. Carefully combining the ingredients, Dean begins to utter the incantation, his rough voice tripping over the various pronunciations of a language he doesn’t even remotely recognize.

His guess is that it's Enochian, given how Dean can feel Cas’ blue eyes trained upon his back. He continues the incantation, slitting open his palm and dripping blood into the midst of the spell. The candles they’ve lit flare up so bright that Dean’s almost blinded. He covers his eyes with his arms, but there’s more. A high pitched whine. Dean’s faintly aware of the windows shattering, a shard of glass splitting his cheek. Blood drips out and Dean faintly wonders, amid all the chaos, if Sam and Cas are okay.

And then it’s quiet.

Hesitantly, Dean looks up to see Hannah. She’s wearing a nice fitting business suit, dark hair pulled back into a bun and she’s staring at him with an intensity that almost rivals Castiel’s. For a moment, Dean feels a shock of fear run through him. In his haste to find a cure for Cas, he’s completely forgotten that angels can be downright terrifying if they put their minds to it. Hannah could very well kill them. But she doesn’t. Instead—

“You could have prayed,” she snaps, crossing her arms in a gesture that is oddly human. Maybe Castiel’s rebellion has had an effect on other angels after all.

“Didn’t think you’d answer,” Dean retorts, injecting more confidence into his voice than he truly felt.

“I am in the middle of an angelic crisis,” Hannah sighs, “It’s madness, trying to keep the angels from creating anarchy on this simple planet and I--” she stops short, her eyes catching Castiel’s. Her breath hitches in her throat, eyes widening only the tiniest of bits before her face returns to being utterly neutral. Still, the surprise is evident, especially by angel standards. Dean’s pretty sure some of Castiel’s siblings don’t know _how_ to use their faces to make any expressions whatsoever.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asks, voice strained.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Sam interjects. He’s cut in a few places from the windows exploding, but all and all he’s certainly been much worse in the past. In fact, if he’s doing poorly, it’s impossible to tell. “Cas called us about his grace a couple days ago and now--”

“No,” Hannah whispers. She’s frozen in place a moment, then suddenly is across the room by Castiel’s side. She begins to speak in worried Enochian and Castiel, for the first time since they’ve found him, sags in relief. Then, to Dean’s surprise, he responds, chatting with Hannah in their native tongue.

There’s something irritating about the two of the talking without a way for the Winchesters to engage in and Dean’s about to do something about this when he feels Sam’s heavy hand on his shoulder. “We’ve done all this work to get her here,” he says simply, “Might as well let the expert figure this out, right?”

Hannah is back a few minutes later, a worried expression on her face. Castiel follows not far behind, a calmer look in his blue eyes. He looks at Hannah as though she’s some kind of leader. Which, Dean supposes she _is_ , but Castiel was above that sort of obedient angel thing, right?

“Is he going to be okay?” Dean asks, not even trying to sound nonchalant. Subtlety, it seems, is only for when Castiel is aware enough to notice how much he cares.

“It is...complicated,” Hannah admits, glancing back at Castiel. “The process of reinserting grace is a dangerous thing, especially when attempted on one’s own. We’re lucky it didn’t kill him.”

“So, what did it do, if you don’t mind me asking?” Sam watches Hannah curiously.

“Essentially, Castiel has been...uh, how did Naomi put this?”

Dean bristles at the mention of Naomi, who he only knows as the angel who orchestrated Castiel’s attack on him, but doesn’t say a word.

“He has been returned to factory settings,” Hannah continues, a hint of pride tinging her voice at remembering the proper human phrase, “His memories have been wiped clean, the most he remembers is being assigned a garrison. Even simple things, like the English language, seem to be lost.”

So, Sam was right. Castiel’s memory was gone. It should be a relief, it doesn’t sound like Cas is actually dying, but somehow this is worse than anything Dean was expecting. Like they finally have Castiel to themselves, but he’s not there anymore. “So...everything he remembers is just...gone?”

Hannah purses her lips. “Not...gone. Not in your sense. Just...buried. So deep that I doubt he will ever find them, or manage to string them together into a coherent set of events. He still knows how to fight, how to function in general and so on...but these, what do you call them? Personal connections? Lost.”

Dean slams his fist against the wall, crying out. This isn’t right. This isn’t fair. He’s come so far to have Castiel snatched away from him now. And in the bitterest of ironies, Cas is still here, still standing next to him, good and healthy, it’s just that mentally, his best friend...no, his _brother_ is a million miles away.

Sam, strangely, does not seem upset, rather...thoughtful.

“Why is he still here, then? We’re obviously not angels. Shouldn’t be trying to find his garrison?”

“Honestly?” Hannah shrugs, “I’m not sure. I would have said it’s because his wings are injured, otherwise he would have flown away, but...there’s no real reason for him to have followed you all the way here.”

“Which means he might remember us,” Sam says, hope tinging his voice.

Hannah glances from the Winchesters to Castiel, biting her lower lip nervously. “He… _might_ ,” she concedes finally, “To be completely honest, nobody ever questioned angelic reprogramming.”

Dean scoffs derisively. “No surprise there.”

“Do you question why your big black car runs? Or why your human remedies work when you are ill?” Hannah snaps grumpily, rounding on Dean, who shakes his head. “I thought not. You do not question the services that work for you. The same applies to angel reprogramming. It was a service, it worked, we did not ask questions. So. He _might_ have his memories. But I have no definite proof.”

“So,” Sam clears his throat, trying to ease the tension between Hannah and Dean, both of whom turn to face him, “Um…if there was a way to get into his head, we could unearth the memories?”

There’s a long silence then: “I…suppose,” Hannah shrugs, “Though such an act has never been done before. I’m not even sure how--”

“Dream root,” Sam interrupts, eyes alight, “I was thinking about it while we prepped to send you here and it’d line up, wouldn’t it? Get into his head, tug the memories back and that’s it. We’ll have Cas back.”

Dean looks at his brother with an expression of surprise and awe, shoulders relaxing for the first time since they found Cas. There’s something here, some semblance of hope.

“Perhaps…” Hannah’s stern voice pierces the bubble of hope forming inside Dean, “But it would be difficult. And there’s no guarantee it’ll even work. Angels are designed to lose all of their past self, especially after a great and traumatic event.”

“Trust me,” Dean replies, making his way back to stand at Cas’ side, “He’s family. We have to try.”

Hannah squints, her head tilting not unlike Castiel’s as she observes them. “What sort of human dares claim familial connection to a host of Heaven?”

“We do.” Sam’s made his way to Cas’ other side, gripping his shoulder tight, “Cas is special.”

Hannah softens slightly. “He is special, isn’t he?” The softness is gone as quickly as it came when her eyes bore into the Winchesters with ferocity. “If I’ve found you’ve hurt him, I will gut you both.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

“Was that a threat on Cas’ behalf?” Sam asks, stunned.

“Y’know, despite the death threat being aimed at us, I’m kinda proud that one of his siblings is treating him like family,” Dean’s got a smile on his face.

A mumbling of Enochian draws their attention back to Castiel. Dean makes his way to Cas’ side quickly. Castiel surveys him, eyes still blank, but reaches out to heal the cuts on Dean’s cheek. Dean mumbles something unintelligible and Sam clears his throat to signal that it is time to leave.

“Did you hear that, Cas?” Dean’s full of excitement as he helps to lead Cas out of the barn, “We’re gonna save you.”

 

\---

 

It’s funny, six years ago, this whole situation would have been utterly unbelievable. Interacting almost intimately with an angel? Ridiculous. Dealing with said angel’s rare problems? Insane. Doing so by consulting from one of thousands of books on lore and monsters kept in a super secret Bunker they’d come to call home? Yeah, Dean would have said there was no way in hell.

Guess a lot can change.

Which is why it comes to no surprise that they’ve got a supply of dream root on hand in a basement room that is completely devoted to strange supernatural ingredients. This ranges from the simple, like sulfur and rock salt, to things Dean hasn’t even heard of, like Hodag spike, which, apparently, belonged to a dog-like monster in North America that had the spikes of a dinosaur along its back. What someone would do with a Hodag spike, Dean has no idea, but he has bigger issues to worry about.

“Dude, they even have bags of rice down here!” Dean announces as he stumbles across a massive rice bag, “You’d think they’d have known where the pantry was by now.”

“They knew what they were doing,” Sam sighs. Dean can practically hear his eyes roll from across the room, “Purified white rice is mentioned in Chinese lore as a form of protection from supernatural forces.”

“Oh. Right. I knew that.” He absolutely did not, but Dean wasn’t about to go into that. He poked haphazardly at a sample of werewolf hair. Cas trailed not far behind him, staring curiously all the while. Dean had brought this staring issue up to Sam, after all, Cas hadn’t been following Sam with the earnest confusion that had been extended to Dean.

Sam had simply laughed. Whatever that was supposed to mean.

“Found it!” Sam’s voice pulls Dean from his reverie. It also tugs Cas’ focus away from Dean, a fact that makes Dean visibly relax. Even though he knows it won’t be long before Cas is examining him again, the reprieve is still welcome.

“Awesome!” It’s a bit of a struggle getting from one end of the cramped room to the other, Dean squeezing awkwardly between boxes and shelves and trays (why someone thought they needed a preserved rougarou skull, Dean could only imagine) in his attempt to reach his brother. “When do we start?”

“About that…” Sam holds up a handful of root, “I’ve been thinking about logistics, and one of us is going to have to stay awake during this. In case something goes wrong, y’know?”

Thank goodness Sam thinks ahead about these sorts of things. Dean’s always been more of a “hunt first, think later” kind of guy and this tendency is only enhanced when someone he loves is in danger.

“I’ll take the dream root,” Dean volunteers without even stopping to make sure Sam was even asking.

He doesn’t expect Sam to look so chill about the offer, though. Seriously, Sam doesn’t even look surprised. Which is odd. It should be surprising that Dean is volunteering so readily, right? After all, they both care about Cas, Sam should have equal stake in wanting to save his memories.

“Because,” Dean feels better adding an explanation, “I owe him. It’ll be the flipped version of him raising me out of hell. Except this time, I’m gonna raise his memories of us out of perdition.”

The corners of Sam’s mouth twitch upwards and for some reason Dean feels a surge of irritation. It’s not funny. This whole thing is very serious and Dean can’t understand for the life of him why Sam is finding any sort of humor in Dean sacrificing to go into Cas’ psyche. After all, it could very well be traumatic.

He says as much to Sam, which only serves to make Sam snicker loudly.

“Just make me the damn tea,” Dean grumbles, knowing full well that Sam’s incessant torture is only bound to continue if they tarry.

“Hold up,” Sam replies, “We’re gonna need something to keep Cas under while this ordeal is going on. Dream root won’t work too well if the other party isn’t dreaming!”

Dean curses. In any other situation, he’d just ask Cas how to keep an angel asleep, but now? The guy only seems to respond in Enochian, he’s the furthest thing from human. How were they supposed to deal with a being that never sleeps? “Maybe we just knock him out?”

Sam’s mouth narrows to a thin line as he rolls the dream root in his fingers. “Seems a bit dangerous, though. Cas doesn’t really remember us...he might not take well to a physical attack.”

“Yeah,” Dean retorts, glancing over to Cas to see if the angel is giving any hint of understanding what they’re discussing. Cas simply tilts his head, blue eyes boring into Dean’s. Right. That’s not creepy at all. “But if we sneak up on him…”

“Please, Dean,” Sam’s strained, “Anything else. I can only imagine the myriad of ways that plan could go south fast on us. Look in that angel book of yours, maybe.”

Dean grimaces, but Sam has a point. It’s probably a good idea to figure out how to sedate the angel before crawling into his psyche to mess around with what was inside. He turns to leave, but it’s just as difficult getting out of the ingredient room as it was getting in. Dean squeezes between tight cupboards and cabinets, trying not to think about how easily the angel behind him was maneuvering the area.

He wants to dive into research as soon as possible, but as soon as they are all out of the room of ingredients Sam drags Dean to the kitchen, forcing him to eat a meal. When the meal doesn’t pan out, Sam settles with a snack, leaving Dean to absentmindedly munch a slice of peanut butter toast.

“Cas likes his with raspberry jam,” he mumbles, nodding his head at the angel. Sam sighs, returning to the cabinets to make more for the angel. Dean’s gone, however, before Sam is even done. Figures. Sam lets him go, gently handing Castiel the toast before making himself some more. They eat in silence for a while, Cas giving the bread a strange look every time he took a bit.

When Sam finally makes it into the library, he finds Dean is beyond antsy. He can’t stop drumming his fingertips or shaking his foot as he sits in the library, searching the book on angels. Sam shoots Dean a dirty look from across the table. “Have you even been researching, or just…this?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Dean mutters, a flash of sadness crossing his face. Sam sighs, knowing how hard this must be on his brother. They research in silence for a while, Sam ignoring how Dean’s bobbing knee is making the table jostle.

“I want him back,” Dean announces finally as he flips another page of the book.

“I know.”

And that’s when he notices the entry. It’s a simple incantation, almost a prayer, that momentarily powers down an angel’s grace. Just enough time to slip Cas a sedative. Dean tries to plan the timeline in his head. They’ll have to have everything lined up perfectly if this is going to work, Dean downing the dream root tea right after Cas ingests the sedative.

He points this out to Sam, who willingly agrees.

They make their way to the kitchen, Sam boiling the water for the tea while Dean rummages around their First Aid kit for some heavy sedatives. It’s quiet, except the mild whistle of the kettle. Cas stands nearby, watching them closely.

“We should do it in my bedroom,” Dean announces gruffly.

Both Sam and Cas turn to stare, though Dean isn’t quite sure Cas really knows what’s happening.

“What?” Dean’s feeling oddly self conscious, “The bed is big enough for both of us. And this way I’ll be able to time my dream root dosing right.”

Sam smirks. “Right. I’m sure that’s the only reason.”

“It is!”

Sam rolls his eyes as the kettle begins whistling even louder. Dean considers speaking up about the water being ready, but decides against it. After all, Sam’s the regular tea drinker here, even if his tea typically does not include supernatural ingredients.

Instead, Dean busies himself with ensuring they have everything prepared. The page with the prayer is bookmarked with some laminated slip of paper from the Bozeman Public Library emblazoned with a moose in reading glasses holding a book. Dean had picked it up to be funny and scrawled “Sam” with an arrow pointing to the moose.

Sam had not been amused.

Next came the hair, which Dean tugs from Cas’ head with a muttered apology. He plops it in a dark blue mug, bought because it reminds him of Cas’ tie, adds the dream root and waits for the water to finish boiling. He doesn’t say a word. Neither does Sam.

Finally, when the whistle of the boiling water is close to screaming, Sam pulls the kettle off the stove, turning off the burner. “This is it,” he whispers, looking from Cas to Dean nervously. Dean gets it, his stomach is turning cartwheels and he hasn’t even drunk the tea yet.

Sam pours the water into the mug, leaving it to steep (whatever that means) before reciting the prayer. For a moment, nothing happens, then Cas cries out, crumpling to the floor.

Dean’s at his side in a moment, helping him up. Sam follows. Even though he’s seen Castiel incapacitated before, it’s always surprising to see. After all, Cas is supposed to be the big, powerful angel. Dean talks to Cas as he cradles his head in his arms. “It’s okay, buddy. We got you.”

They help guide Cas into Dean’s room, laying him carefully on the memory foam bed. He sinks in slightly, looking at the bed with bewilderment. It’s then that Sam carefully coaxes Cas’ mouth open, placing the heavy duty sedative pills in his mouth and tilting a bottle of water into it. Cas drinks eagerly, water spilling from his lips and soaking through his shirt.

Sam and Dean watch as Cas mutters in Enochian, still very much asleep, before slumping against the pillow. “Don’t look now,” Sam says, “But I think he might drool on your pillow.”

The joke falls flat. Dean’s far too nervous to process it, instead running from the room to retrieve the mug of dream root tea. He doesn’t even try to bring it to the bedroom, instead lifting the warm cup to his lips in the kitchen.

It smells awful, like a skunk had sprayed a decomposing body in the woods, but he drinks it all, trying to ignore the fact that Cas’ hair is in this brew. His natural instinct is to spew the foul liquid everywhere, but Dean resists. This, in its own disgusting way, is for Cas.

He’s already feeling tired by the time the cup is drained. Dean nearly falls over twice on his way back into the bedroom and he falls onto the bed with little grace, his eyes closing before he can even hit the mattress.

 

\---

 

Dean wakes up on the kitchen floor of the Bunker. He can recognize the ugly green tiles anywhere. He’s staring at the oven, wondering how the floor has gotten so clean. For a second, it feels like the dream root tea hasn’t worked. “Sam?” Dean croaks, pulling his face off the tile and pushing to his feet. He turns to leave the kitchen, his heart rocketing into his throat to discover he’s not alone.

Castiel sits at the table in his original rumpled trench coat. He’s fiddling intently with the bunny ears of an ancient television, his face light up by the crackling static, brow furrowed in concentration. It’s a familiar expression, one Dean’s always found to be endearing.

“It’s not working,” Cas grumbles, Dean breathing a sigh of relief to hear the familiar deep gravelly voice speaking English, “I can’t see them.”

“Cas?” Dean’s voice startles the angel, who tips backwards in his chair. Dean catches him, gripping Cas’ shoulders to keep him from falling. Cas shifts in his seat to stare up at Dean, eyes full of confusion.

“You look...familiar,” Cas mutters, squinting at Dean like he was a distant relative whose name he’d forgotten.

“You don’t know me?” Dean shivers. He wasn’t expecting Cas not to know him here. He’d foolishly assumed that the memories would be easy to find, like all it would take was a snap of his fingers and _boom,_ Cas remembers everything. Of course the universe wasn’t so kind.

“I might,” Cas gestures to the TV, “But I can’t see you!’

Dean’s not sure what drives him to do it, some strange sort of gut instinct, but he makes his way to the television. “Here, let me try,” he says, reaching out to gently shift the bunny ears. He can hear static fill the air, fill his very ears, and there’s a strange feeling in his stomach. The crackling increases in noise and the whole scene becomes hazy, as though Dean was seeing things through a television screen.

His head begins to pound and Dean closes his eyes. Suddenly, the static stops. Dean tentatively opens his eyes. He almost vomits on the spot. Gone is the Bunker kitchen. In its place: Hell.

He stands in a field, barren save for the rows and rows of torturing racks. The world is dark, light only by a vague, sickly green glow. Screams echo from every corner and the smell of sulfur and rot fill Dean’s nose. His heart rate sky rockets. What the hell happened? He’s about two seconds from a full scale breakdown when he sees it. A strange, almost otherworldly light filling the room. Dean has to squint to make it out, but the recognition dawns on him.

Cas.

He’s not clad in his familiar trench coat, but rather a robe and golden armor, both of which look like they’d normally be immaculately clean if it wasn’t for the fact he was fighting for his life in Hell. The armor is streaked with blood and ash and Cas’ glowing face looks weary. It’s clear that despite being an extremely powerful being, Castiel has been pushed to his limit. And yet, he’s magnificent. It’s the first time Dean’s seen Castiel’s wings up close and they are incredible, dark and strong. To his dismay, however, they appear to be burned. Flying into Hell has damaged the angel.

Still, a look of relief flashes across Cas’ face. Dean follows Cas’ gaze and can’t help but gasp. The thing that Cas is looking at? It’s him. Dean’s never seen the monster he became from the outside before. He’s never seen how close his eyes have grown to being black. Never heard the bone-chilling laugh as the person he’s carving into wails in agony. Dean watches as his counterpart smiles a smile so unfamiliar that it feels like he’s watching another person.

If he didn’t know that thing was him, Dean’s certain he’d try and kill it.

And yet, there’s something in Cas’ gaze that’s...almost soft. Castiel’s bare feet hover above the filthy ground and Dean wants to tell him to stop. Tell him to turn back. He doesn’t remember seeing this with his own eyes, but now that he can see the glory that is Castiel, it’s mind-blowing that someone like him would try to save, well, the broken wretch that’s fallen to torturing souls in Hell.

But Castiel does touch the ground.

A couple demons lunge at him from different sides of the field and Dean watches in pure awe as Castiel moves to fight them. He ducks gracefully, stabbing his blade into the gut of one demon, sidestepping the swipe of another one wielding a mace. He catches the demon’s wrist as it pulls back to take another shot, stabbing it in the heart. Meanwhile, the third moves in behind Cas, two daggers lunging towards his beautiful wings.

Cas takes to the air, leaping up right as the demon lunges and smiting the being from above. As he lands gently, however, Dean realizes there’s one final foe.

Himself.

The half demon that is Dean holds a machete in one hand and chains in the other, a wicked grin on his face. His face is streaked with other peoples’ blood, his clothes torn and he looks downright _terrifying._ “Never tortured something like you before,” his voice is rough, full of glee and he licks his lips, “This is gonna be a treat.”

Dean shakes his head, feeling sick to his stomach. He’s forgotten his rescue from Hell, and he’s wondering now if Castiel might have been instrumental in hiding those memories.

“I am here to save you, Dean,” Castiel announces, “You are the Righteous Man.”

Monster-Dean laughs, a harsh, guttural sound. “Little late for that, isn’t it?”

Dean can’t help but think that his monstrous counterpart has a valid point. And, knowing what he does now, he’s aware of the fact that he’s already broken the first seal. It’s really fitting punishment to leave him in Hell for jumpstarting the apocalypse. But Castiel doesn’t do that.

“Dean, you are coming with me.” Cas’ jaw is hard, it’s a stubborn expression that is painfully familiar. “I do not want to hurt you.”

The monster that is Dean laughs again. “I doubt you _can_.”

And then Monster-Dean lunges. It’s not something Castiel expects and the monster is able to land his first blow, a deep slice on Castiel’s right arm, the jagged edges of the machete trailing a brutal gash. Castiel takes a deep breath and the wound glows. It heals, but slowly, much slower than Dean is used to seeing. The angel grits his teeth, readying his blade. “I do not want to fight you,” he reiterates.

“Too bad,” Monster-Dean makes a show of licking Castiel’s blood off his machete and Dean almost vomits at the sight, “I’m gonna love breaking you in.”

It’s too much for Dean to watch. Was this how they were always destined to meet? Dean trying to kill Cas? Except this time Castiel is weakened and Monster-Dean’s grown powerful in his torture and as he lands blow after blow, Dean can’t help but shut his eyes.

“This can’t be how it happened. This can’t be how it happened!” he cries.

The static fills his ears again and when Dean opens his eyes, he’s struck with deja vu. Gone is the battle between him and Castiel. In fact, Castiel is descending into the field of torture, just like before. His face relaxes when he sees Dean, just like before. The demons attack him and, just like before, Castiel fights him off.

But this time, when he touches ground to face Monster-Dean, Monster-Dean drops his weapons and stumbles away from Cas. “Don’t…” he says as Castiel approaches, backing away so quickly that he’s sent tumbling to his knees. As Castiel comes closer, Dean tries harder to move away. “You’re too pure to touch me…”

Slowly, Castiel advances, putting one hand on Dean’s shoulder. “But I’ve seen your soul, Dean Winchester and deep down, it is pure,” Castiel’s voice is rumbling, but kind. Monster-Dean looks up at the angel with an expression of awe in his blackish-green eyes.

The hand on Dean’s shoulder begins to glow and Dean closes his eyes as the light burns a mark onto his skin. He grips Cas’ robe, pressing his face to Castiel’s chest. The angel looks momentarily confused, but wraps his other arm around Dean’s shoulder.

“Do not be afraid, Righteous Man. I will always protect you,” Castiel whispers before his wings propel him into the air, flying Dean to safety out of Hell.

As they ascend, static descends and the whole scene grows hazy again. For a moment, it’s so hazy that Dean can’t see anything, and as his eyes adjust he finds he’s back in the Bunker’s kitchen, the version of Castiel he knows and loves staring back at him.

For a moment, Dean’s not even sure if anything really happened, or if this dream (was it a dream?) was simply something he’d experienced alone. He stares at Castiel, silently asking if the angel knows what just happened.

“I pulled you from Hell,” Castiel says simply.

Dean blinks, remembering both versions of the occasion. The first being, what he thinks really happens and the second memory being what he’s got a sneaking suspicion some altered version of reality.

“What...do you remember about that?” he asks hesitantly.

Castiel’s face breaks into a gentle smile. “You came without a fight. I healed your soul and wrapped you in my arms and we flew from Hell.”

So he remembers the altered memory. Dean bites the inside of his cheek. On the one hand, it can’t be that moral to let your friend remember something that didn’t happen. On the other...that original memory had been horrible. This one, it seems, gives Castiel some semblance of joy. And Castiel deserves to be happy, right?

“Do you remember anything else about me? About us?” Dean says, deciding then and there not to correct the altered memory. It was only a minor change, anyway, nothing that would really screw up Castiel’s perspective of the world, right?

Cas shakes his head sadly. The television still flickers black and white static. They stand awkwardly together for a while, Castiel staring intently at the screen before looking up at Dean. “You...you did something before, to my television. Could you do it again?”

If the memories are anything like the last ones, Dean’s loathe to try. But he can’t bear the idea of losing his best friend. If this is what it takes to get Castiel back, so be it. Dean nods, stepping past Cas to fiddle with the bunny ears once again.

The world fills with static and haze and Dean braces himself for the scene to change.

 

—

 

It’s very loud. This is the first thing Dean notices. The next is the overwhelming scent of perfume. He blinks, taking in the crowded dark room. Near-naked women strut amidst the crowd, serving alcohol and occasionally following gentlemen out of the room. Was he at a strip club?

Dean looks across the room to see himself and Castiel sitting at a table. The angel looks positive _terrified,_ muttering something about it being a den of iniquity. Dean sits onto a chair and watches the scene unfold, grinning like an idiot when he sees Castiel being lead away by a hot young woman named _Chastity_ of all things.

Curious to see how the scene unfolded, Dean takes advantage of being in Castiel’s memory to follow the couple into a room. There’s a nicely lit mirror on one end and a King bed with red silk sheets on the other. Dean knows how this goes down, he knows nothing happens, but at the same time, he’s suddenly unsure of whether or not what he’s doing is creepy.

After all, he’s tucking into a room to watch his friend interact with a prostitute.

Dean pushes the thought away, focusing on how Chastity tugs Castiel into the room, closing the door behind her.

“So…you like angels?” she purrs, stepping towards Cas, who is currently trying to move away from her.

“I am an angel of the Lord,” Castiel replies, confused, “So I suppose I like angels.”

She giggles, grabbing Cas by the lapels of his trench coat. “You’re an angel, huh?” She kisses Castiel, “You definitely look the part, hot stuff.”

To Dean’s astonishment, he feels an odd surge of emotion in his gut. Something’s not right about this situation. Something is not right about this Chastity. The only consolation is that Cas doesn’t kiss back, just merely looks confused and worried.

“I’m gonna send you back to Heaven tonight,” Chastity murmurs, raking her fingers through his hair as she begins to trail kisses across Cas’ jaw and down his neck. Castiel stiffens as she tries to tug his jacket off.

The more this continues, the more fierce the feeling in his gut becomes. Dean’s growing more and more tempted to pull the pair apart.

“Shy, huh?” Chastity pulls away, reaching out to grab Castiel’s hand. “You don’t have to be…” she places Castiel’s hand on her cheek. His eyes widen as his fingers brush her skin and for a moment Dean’s afraid he’ll try to kiss back.

Instead, he simply stares into her eyes and says. “I know you do this because you feel lost. But your father did not leave because he was dismayed with you, he merely could not stand his job at the post office…”

Chastity’s face contorts and she screams, slapping him _hard_ before running out the door. Dean feels bad to note the strange feeling in his gut vanishes the moment Chastity stops trying to touch Castiel.

Dean remembers what happens next, how he found the bewildered Castiel and lead him out of the club before anyone got upset. How he’d slung an arm across Castiel’s shoulders and _laughed_ in a way he hadn’t since he’d been sent to Hell. How Castiel smiled tentatively, proud to have made Dean so happy.

It was almost a perfect moment, one of the best moments in Dean’s recent past, so he doesn’t understand why the world flickers and pops with static like before, the Dean and Cas from the past vanishing from the alleyway. What was going to change?

This time, Dean heard the the whole ordeal play out, just as before. Chastity screamed profanities at Cas, and then the door to the alley was swinging open, Dean laughing and Cas in tow. The whole scene played out just like before, leaving Dean confused. Nothing had changed. Until.

“Never change, Cas,” the past-Dean says, but this time, it’s accompanied by a lingering glance. A fearful gulp. And then, suddenly Dean was leaning in to press his lips against Castiel’s. They both pull away, staring at each other.

“So…uh, you won’t die entirely a virgin,” Dean mumbles, cheeks flaming as Castiel touches his lips, a curious expression on his face.

“Thank you, Dean…” Castiel smiles and Dean smiles back, wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulder once again as they walk off into the darkness.

The present Dean can only gape at the couple wandering away from him. The scene was perfectly fine how it was before. There is no reason for him to change it, especially to change it to _this_. He doesn’t want to kiss Cas! Why would he?

Of course, there’s a small suspicion in the back of his head growing that perhaps the emotion he felt when Chastity was kissing Cas wasn’t wary suspicion, but rather a brutal, bitter jealousy. But Dean shoves this thought aside. There’s no way he’d really kiss Cas. And there’s no way Cas would like it, right?

Closing his eyes, he tries to will the static back. If he changed this scene, he can probably change it back. There’s a sort of fight, like he’s trying to tug the memory one way and some other force is trying to tug it back. But eventually the static grows and the scene rewinds.

Dean allows it to play out like it originally had. He tells himself that it’s because he doesn’t want to mess with too many of Castiel’s memories. That’s got to be the reason. He really only wants to change the sad memories and this one wasn’t sad to begin with…

When he’s once again back in the imaginary Bunker with Castiel, Dean tries to push away the thought that he very well might just like to try kissing Cas again.

“Um…” Dean clears his throat awkwardly as Castiel watches him. If the kiss _did_ go through, he sure as hell didn’t want to be the one to bring it up.

Cas’ face breaks into a grin. “I forgot we had such a good time. Though Chastity was _not_ enjoyable, it was rather nice being with you.”

He doesn’t mention the kiss, so neither does Dean. Instead, he awkwardly makes his way back to the television. “You, uh, want me to bring back some more memories?”

The angel nods excitedly and Dean grabs the slim metal wires. He’s eager to get out of here, eager to have his focus dragged to anything other than the fact that he almost tried to amend a perfectly good memory to include kissing.

He sighs with relief as the world fills with static.

 

—-

 

It smells like autumn; the air is just starting to grow chill. Dean looks around in confusion. He’s standing in suburbia, a manicured lawn with a nice wooden fence, but it’s a familiar suburbia. It’s his home, he realizes with a pang, the one he’d had with Lisa. He’d fixed that fence with his own two hands.

To his right he sees himself, raking leaves without a care in the world. Dean frowns. What does this memory have to do with Castiel?

That’s when he sees it, Castiel staring at him from afar. A odd, longing look in his eyes. Dean’s almost certain the angel would have stood there forever if it hadn’t been for the appearance of Crowley.

Watching their transaction made Dean’s blood boil. Of course Crowley would say it would be worth his while. Of course Crowley would promise a deal to help Cas. He could see the way Crowley’s eyes kept flitting over to the Dean raking leaves, knowing full well Castiel wanted to keep Dean safe. To keep Dean out of it.

Dean knows the outcome. He knows Castiel will walk away with Crowley, will start on a terrible path, but he can’t bear to let it happen. The static fills the scene and after a sharp flicker, the other Dean looks up from his leaves.

“Castiel?” he says aloud.

Cas whips around, his blue eyes both hopeful and confused.

“I know I, uh, I haven’t prayed much recently...but I miss you,” Dean rakes a couple more leaves into a pile, mostly as a way to do something with his hands, “And...I dunno, I hope you’re staying safe. You did so much to keep me safe and I just...I hope you’ve got someone looking out for you.”

He pokes the leaf pile tentatively. Meanwhile, Castiel softens, taking a step closer to Dean. “I could look out for you, y’know. Could keep tabs and stuff, since you’re my best friend…”

Castiel makes his way closer and closer to Dean, hand hovering over the shoulder where he’d cleansed Dean’s soul in Hell. Crowley coughs, motioning for Castiel to return, but Cas’ jaw hardens as he looks from the demon to Dean. “No deal, Crowley.”

The static returns and Dean is once again in the Bunker kitchen.

“You kept me from making a demon deal?” Cas cocks his head, “Why?”

“I...I dunno. You’re my friend,” Dean licks his lips nervously. Changing the memory of Hell wouldn’t have had that much of an effect on Castiel’s overall perspective of the past. But this...this was different. Changing a memory like this meant whatever Cas remembered would likely be entirely altered. But...was that so bad? He could fix things. He could make Castiel’s life better.

Surely Cas deserves a break after everything he’s had to survive, right?

“You are the best friend I have ever had,” Castiel concludes cheerfully, “I cannot wait to remember more of you.”

A strange feeling of guilt curls in the pit of Dean’s stomach, Castiel deserves much better friends than the likes of Dean, but he ignores it. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, so I think we’re even, buddy,” Dean replies, clapping a hand to Cas’ shoulder as he moves to rearrange the bunny ears again.

They start to make their way through memories more quickly. Sometimes, Dean finds he doesn’t have much to alter at all, but it isn't often. After all, even the best moments can still be improved in some way or another.

Much of Dean’s alterations are minor things. He edits out the unkind words thrown at Cas and replaces them with compliments. He adds a memory at some greasy diner in Idaho where he, Sam and Cas order a burger so large it fills the plate and to the Winchester’s amazement, Castiel finishes the entire burger off, going so far as to impress the staff by downing an entire ice cream sundae afterwards. The employees snap a polaroid of the confused but excited Cas with his arms wrapped around both Winchesters, and Castiel proudly puts his picture on the wall.

Another memory comes with Cas and the Winchesters pulled over on the side of the road, probably 10 hours in of a drive home from a hunt. The three of them sit on the hood of the car, Dean handing Cas a beer as they watch meteors shower down in the night sky. Castiel describes constellations to the Winchesters, beaming every time they are impressed with his knowledge.

There are more phone calls between the two of them, more moments where Dean simply stops and admires just how amazing Castiel is. Even a few times where Dean pretends to be asleep just so Castiel can watch him a little longer. Dean gets carried away filling the empty spaces of Castiel’s memories with happiness and camaraderie.

And yet, there seem to be some memories Dean can’t quite change. Castiel still gets strong-armed into making a deal with Crowley (though this time he does it with Dean by his side), he still takes on Sam’s Lucifer-induced madness (though this time the Winchesters take care of him, bringing him with them and leaving him in the safety of their motel rooms during hunts) and still stays behind in Purgatory (though it looks like he’s about to tell Dean something important when the portal closes).

With each memory, Dean comes back to find Castiel in the Bunker more aware of the past. He remembers the Winchesters in greater and greater detail, talking to Dean about parts of the memory that Dean doesn’t even fully recall, like the color of Dean’s shirt or the brand of beer they’d bought while on a hunt in Oregon.

Still, despite Cas looking happier and happier, Dean can’t help but wonder if he’s doing the right thing. Making someone happy...that’s a good thing, right? But changing memories has to be a pretty bad thing. But if you’re changing a bad memory to make someone happy, that might negate the bad? Dean’s not sure. He wishes briefly that Sam was in the dream with him. After all, Sam might be able to figure out this moral mumbo jumbo.

What’s stranger than the guilt is the odd sensation that something is missing from these altered memories. And it’s not even the truth that feels like it’s gone. It’s something else, some aspect of this new, fictitious world Dean is creating for Castiel that feels like it hasn’t been explored properly, if at all.

He considers asking Cas about it when they’re together in the mind-Bunker.

His reverie is broken, however, by Castiel, who hovers mere inches behind Dean. Dean’s initial reaction, upon whirling around and finding Castiel so close, is to chastise him for intruding on personal space, and yet there’s no real emotion behind that urge. In fact, after all these new altered memories, Castiel being this close feels normal. Well, normal except for the strange increase in Dean’s heart rate.

Dean’s aware that they’re staring now, Dean gazing absentmindedly at Cas’ face, while Cas’ blue eyes are trained on Dean’s. Dean clears his throat. “You, uh, need something?”

“Yes,” Cas’ voice is all business, though his eyes hold some strange emotion that Dean can’t make sense of, “I believe you should resume recovering my memories. I am...eager to recall more of our past together.”

Dean nods, oddly relieved to have an excuse to turn away. He doesn’t remember the kiss, does he? Almost without thinking, he adjusts the bunny ears, bracing himself for the static that came with it.

When he opens his eyes, all the warm fuzzy feelings he had moments before vanish. Because this time? They’re in the crypt. And Castiel is about to kill him.

 

\---

 

Dean hates this memory and he can’t help but imagine that Castiel does too. After all, when the tables were turned and Dean attacked Cas...well, he still hasn’t been able to forgive himself for that.

He watches as Castiel lands blow after blow, cringing with each one. “We need you…” his copy says, “I need you…”

And somehow, despite being completely blameless in this situation, Dean feels guilt settle in his stomach for a whole other reason. Before he can stop it, the static crackles and the scene rewinds. He hears himself say the same words again, but this time, after a short pause, Dean also croaks:

“I love you, Cas.”

Dean’s heart stops at the words. Did he really mean to say that? Could he really feel that? His breath hitches even further in his throat when the blade slips from Cas’ fingers and the angel stares at him with a look Dean hasn’t seen before.

Carefully, Cas cradles Dean’s face in his hand (Dean does remember this happening) and leans down to press a kiss to Dean’s forehead (Dean certainly would have remembered if this had happened). Dean is lit up with grace for a moment as his wounds heal and to Dean’s shock, he watches as his doppelgänger tentatively tugs Castiel back after being healed.

“Cas…” the doppelgänger croaks, eyes wide and searching as the angel crouches to Dean’s level. Castiel doesn’t speak, he simply watches Dean curiously as Dean leans in to press the faintest of kisses to his lips.

The real Dean feels like he’s going to fall over. He doesn’t seem to have control over the memory anymore, instead merely watching as something new and very, very unexpected unfolds.

“Did you really mean it?” Castiel whispers, hovering over Dean’s lips, “What you said when I was under her control?” When the doppelgänger nods, Castiel lands a clumsy kiss of his own on his lips.

“I love you too, Dean Winchester,” Cas announces as he wraps his arms around Dean. The other reciprocates and soon they’re caught in a strange pile on the floor of the crypt, Cas’ fingers shyly exploring Dean’s cheek, Dean’s hand tentatively wandering into Cas’ hair as they held each other close.

Dean watches, shocked to find that an odd sense of happiness is blooming in his chest as they continue to kiss. There’s an overwhelming sense of _rightness_ to it. Which doesn’t make any sense. He’s already edited out one kiss, and yet…some part of him doesn’t want this to change…

The scene flickers, the static rises, and Dean returns to the Bunker, completely breathless.

This can’t be happening.

This _can’t_ be happening.

Making Cas happy, sure. That’s fine. But this? He’d changed the last kissing memory, he was sure that was the end of it. He doesn’t love Cas like that, does he? How could this happen? Everything was going good, it was all coming together wonderfully, how could he possibly risk all that with another drawn out kiss?

And how come he didn’t change it back?

“You…” Cas stares at Dean with a look in his eyes that Dean is strangely certain is love, “You and I...I’d always hoped, but…”

_He’d always hoped? Was this really happening?_

Cas steps closer, wrapping strong, steady arms around Dean. It feels heavenly, Dean’s heart soars...and the fear sets in. Dean jerks away and Cas’ face falls.

“There’s more to this, isn’t there?” he says sadly, “Did we fall apart in the future? Did I...do something?” Cas’ voice hitches, growing in intensity, “I am aware I am not the most knowledgeable of human customs, did I act incorrectly? Was I an embarrassment?”

 _It’s not you, it’s me_ , Dean desperately wants to say. He wants to cup Cas’ cheek in his hand and kiss away the sadness but the fact he’s now able to feasibly entertain that notion scares Dean to the bone. What if these feelings are real? And, almost worse, what if these things Cas is feeling towards Dean aren’t real, but merely a product of the multitude of false memories implanted in Cas’ mind by Dean.

This is all too complicated to voice aloud, though. Dean would have done nothing, but the way Castiel wilts is just too much to bear. He’s come too far to see Cas sad now. “None of that,” Dean assures Cas, tentatively wrapping an arm around Cas’ waist, “It’s just sad you don’t remember everything yet.”

Cas brightens immediately, tucking his nose into the crook of Dean’s neck. It’s soft and warm and Dean wants to live in this moment forever. Not thinking, not analyzing the situation or trying to predict the future, not fearing the past or his own strange reaction to these feelings, just...comforting Cas. Loving Cas.

The more he thinks about loving Cas, the more Dean thinks he might just grow to be okay with it.

“Are there more happy memories in store?” Cas’ voice is muffled by Dean’s jacket and Dean finds his thumb stroking circles into what he thinks is the small of Cas’ back through the trench coat.

“So many.”

“Can you get them for me?”

Dean pauses. “Could we stay like this for a minute?”

He wants to hold onto this moment, this fantasy, even for an instant. Because like it or not, the memory alterations have seemed to take on a life of their own and Dean’s not sure he’s going to like, or even be prepared, for what’s coming next.

To his relief, Cas nods and Dean holds him in a hug for far longer than is ever socially acceptable. He lets his fingers creep into Cas’ hair in a way that couldn’t be viewed as platonic and, when it’s finally lasted longer than Dean can justify, shyly presses a kiss to Cas’ temple before letting go.

It’s the first time he’s actually kissed Cas, instead of watching himself kiss Cas, and Dean has to fight the urge to touch his lips afterwards.

“I’ll see you on the other side, okay?” Dean says gruffly. Cas smiles a serene sort of smile that Dean hasn’t even seen on a good day, even giving a tiny wave as Dean steps away to fumble with the bunny ears once again.

 

\---

 

The static flickers and for a moment, Dean is confused. He’s still in the Bunker. What memories would Cas have in the Bunker to be of such note?

That’s when he hears it. His own voice. “You can’t stay.”

Dean’s heart plummets to his feet and he turns slowly to see the look of shock on Cas’ newly human face. He doesn’t want to watch what happens next, the static is already flickering before Cas can even say a word.

When the static stops, Dean finds the study is empty. His brow furrows and he finds himself walking, then running, around the Bunker to find Cas. The ex-angel isn’t in the kitchen, or the library, or even a spare room. Cas can’t be gone, can he?

Without meaning to, Dean finds himself calling Cas’ name, desperately searching for any sign of the angel. He runs past his own open door before skidding to a halt, taking several steps back to see what’s inside.

It’s him, arms wrapped tight around Castiel, who is wearing one of Dean’s old Metallica t-shirts. He hasn’t shaved yet, dark stubble lining his slightly malnourished jawline.

“I can really stay here?” Cas whispers, eyes shining with hope.

Dean grins. “That would be the definition of our room,” he nuzzles Cas affectionately, “I’m not going to throw my boyfriend out on the streets.”

Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s lips. “I owe you so much.”

“You owe me nothing, angel.”

Cas flinches, a shadow crossing his face at the mention of what Dean can only assume is a pet name. It’s cute, Dean admits, though he understands why it would be a sore subject for Cas.

“I’m not an angel anymore,” Cas can’t help but keep the bitterness out of his voice, “I’m practically useless.”

“Not to me,” Dean insists, pressing a few soft kisses against the stubble that’s grown along Cas’ jaw, “Angel or not, I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

It feels like he’s invaded a private moment. Dean’s never seen himself so tender with anyone, least of all Castiel. He’s always treated Cas like he’s some sort of weapon they can call upon when they need help, not like someone he’d give anything to protect. And that’s the strange thing, because even without admitting to loving Cas like that, Dean would have gladly given his life to save Castiel. Cas, whether an angel or not, is just as much a priority to Dean as Sam.

Of course, if he hadn’t amended practically all of Castiel’s memories, Dean wonders if Cas would have thought Dean felt anything for him at all.

The static crackles in and Dean is almost relieved to be leaving that scene, the scene where Dean does everything right for a change. Where he’s calm and expressive and oh, so in love with the angel who’s pulled him out of Hell, both literal and figurative, time and time again.

“I wondered why you were here, you know.”

Dean hasn’t even realized he’s made it back into the kitchen with Cas. He glances over to the television to find the signal is, for the first time, strong and clear. The images playing are almost exclusively of Castiel and Dean. The two of them together on walks. Holding hands under the table in a restaurant. Kissing on the shore of a moonlit lake.

What’s more, there are still many fond memories of Sam appearing in the mix. There’s the three of them together on a warm beach, Sam splashing Dean and Cas playfully. Sam helping Castiel make breakfast in the kitchen. The three of them singing along to AC/DC in the Impala.

Castiel has memories, fresh new memories, and from the looks of it, they’re settling in well. It’s hard for Dean to tear his focus from the screen.

He looks up, however, when Cas’ arms snake around his waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. Cas’ warm breath tickles his ear and Dean feels his stomach erupt into butterflies at the sensation.

“When you first came, I had no idea who you were. I could not understand why one of my brothers or sisters wasn’t restoring my memories instead...but now…” Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s earlobe and Dean’s skin tingles, “I am so glad it was you.”

Dean freezes in Cas’ arms. It was him, he was the one who’d gone into Cas’ mind and he’d changed everything. What was he thinking? If Cas woke up like this, would he really think the fake memories were real?

Worse, what if the only reason Cas was acting like this was because of something Dean had done? What if Cas, the real Cas, didn’t love Dean like this? This had started as a way to increase Cas’ happiness but looking at everything he’d changed, Dean begins to fear he’s gone entirely too far.

“Cas…” Dean gulps, turning in Cas’ arms to face the angel. Cas smiles, a smile that crinkles all the creases in his face, along his forehead and around his eyes, even a small dimple in his cheek. “I made a mistake…”

“How?” Cas tilts his head in the way that’s oh so familiar and it takes everything Dean can do not to simply hold his tongue.

“I need to fix the television, I need to fix those memories…”

“But you already have!”

“No, Cas. You don’t understand, it’s not...it’s not real!”

Cas frowns, searching Dean’s face worriedly, though it’s clear he has no idea what Dean means by his statement. As Dean tries to pull out of his arms, though, the static begins again, the world growing hazy despite the fact Dean hasn’t touched the television.

“No!” Dean cries out to nobody in particular, “NO!”

That’s when the world goes dark.

 

\---

 

Dean wakes up in his own bed, a truly terrible taste in his mouth. He shoots upright with a gasp. “Cas!”

Turning his head wildly he sees Cas laid out beside him and Sam sitting in a chair nearby. Sam stands up when he realizes Dean’s awake, making his way to Dean’s bed. “You’re okay now,” Sam says soothingly, “This is real life.”

Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to explain what happened in Cas’ mind. Hell, he’s not even sure if the memories stuck.

The answer to his question comes quickly as he feels a warm body collide with his own from behind. Cas has wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist. “You did it!” Cas says aloud, his voice full of excitement, “I can’t believe you did it!”

Dean turns, and runs right into Cas’ lips. The kiss is clumsy, but it’s real. It’s real. Castiel kisses him again before scrambling to his feet to give Sam a tight hug, a stream of excited “thank you’s” spilling from his lips.

Sam’s eyes are wide, the confusion evident on his face as he pats Cas’ back awkwardly. He waits for Dean to give an explanation.

Dean clears his throat awkwardly, putting a soft hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Yeah, um, about that...you mind if I have a quick word with my brother? To make sure we did everything right and all that?”

Cas pulls away, still beaming. “Of course! I’ll go get beer to celebrate!”

“But you don’t know--” Sam begins.

“Refrigerator. Bottom drawer on the left,” Cas interrupts, clapping a cheerful hand to Sam’s shoulder, “C’mon, Sam. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Sam makes a face, but doesn’t say anything as Castiel leaves the room, an unrecognizable spring to his step.

When Cas is definitely gone, he swings the door shut, rounding on Dean with a look of sheer confusion on his face. “What. The. Hell. Happened in there?”

“It was an accident!”

“You accidentally worked through all your gay panic?”

Dean isn’t expecting that answer, stumbling backwards slightly. His mouth opens and closes silently, searching for a retort that just doesn’t seem to come. Changing Castiel’s memories? Dean gets that one. But gay panic? He didn’t have that...right?

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you and Cas are finally getting together,” Sam’s started to babble now, his voice growing in excitement, “I just...how? When?”

“It’s not what you think,” Dean mutters, realizing Sam must have assumed they’d merely talked while in Cas’ headspace, “I, uh...I might not have put his memories back the way I found them.”

And in a panicked, guilty rush, Dean spills the whole thing. Of how awful Cas’ memories were, how utterly sad and lacking in love, and how he couldn’t bear to see that. How he’d accidentally changed one memory and then he couldn’t stop and before too long he didn’t even have control of the direction of the changes, it all just happened before he could stop it.

“So...he remembers a past that’s entirely different than the one that really happened?”

“I mean, not entirely,” Dean mutters defensively, sinking into his memory foam mattress, “The big stuff still happens, but...the rest of it, it’s, uh, happy for him. It’s Cas tagging along when we were just hanging out, us doin’ more to appreciate him...that sort of stuff.”

“The sort of stuff you wished happened in the past,” Sam replies simply, settling down on Dean’s bed with a sigh.

“Pretty much.”

Dean looks away, shame etching his features. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment in Sam’s face for, once again, doing something he really shouldn’t. Especially because this time, it might mean they’ve lost Castiel for good. That they’ve replaced their lovable, albeit intensely serious angel with something that should only exist in fantasy.

What he isn’t expecting is for the bed to creak and for Sam to wrap his arms around him.

“Honestly? I think I might have done the same thing if I was in your shoes,” Sam says, “Minus the whole, uh, relationship bit.”

Dean blushes, but is thankfully kept from having to explain further how he actually doesn’t mind the relationship part by Cas coming back in, six-pack in hand. He enthusiastically hands one to Sam and another to Dean, cracking his own open before lacing his fingers into Dean’s. “How do we plan on celebrating?”

“Celebrating?” Dean and Sam both turn to gape at Cas.

“I mean...I guess we don’t have to. But I don’t know how long those memories were locked away and I just feel...I feel good, you know? And I guess I thought that you two might too?” Cas shrugs, clearly trying to act like he doesn’t care whether or not they celebrate. Dean would have smothered a laugh if he hadn’t been so stressed about whether or not he’s done the right thing.

Cas looks from Dean’s stricken face to Sam’s, his own expression falling. “What happened? Is something wrong?”

Is something wrong? After all, Cas is happy, probably for the first time in a very long time. And that is something Dean desperately wants. But he’s still not sure changing Cas’ memories is the right way to have that happen.

That said, Dean’s not even sure what he can do to fix it. He’s afraid to meddle with Cas’ memories again. In part, because he’s worried he might accidentally erase them, but also because he’s not sure he’ll have the strength to return them to the originals.

Unsure what to do, but desperately certain he doesn’t want to see Cas sad, not again, Dean forces a smile. “Nothing’s wrong, angel, I’m just worn out from the dream root.”

Cas’ face immediately lights up at the pet name and Dean avoids looking at Sam, afraid of what sort of judgement his brother might be passing. He half expects Sam to speak up about the altered memories, but somehow it never comes up. They drink their beer in silence for a while, Cas never once letting go of Dean’s hand. It feels nice, hell, it feels wonderful, and Dean silently commits the sensation to memory.

Just in case.

After about half an hour, Sam excuses himself from the room. He’s stopped by another tight hug by Cas, one Sam tentatively reciprocates this time around, before he’s allowed to leave. Which means it’s just Dean and Cas. Alone.

Dean’s not sure what he wants to happen, but he submits to the barrage of soft, gentle kisses that Cas rains down on him. He ignores the curl of guilt in his stomach and instead focuses on the fact the rest of him seems to be going wild at the physical contact. His heart is pounding and his chest is full of light. It’s everything he never knew he was dreaming of.

They don’t speak, and for that Dean is grateful, kissing Cas back with equal adoration for a while before cuddling up to Cas, falling asleep with his arm wrapped around Cas’ waist and his face pressed snugly into Cas’ chest.

He’ll deal with the rest in the morning.

 

\---

 

Dean, does not, in fact, deal with the rest in the morning. Or the morning after, or the morning after that, for that matter. He’s decided the best track is to simply ignore the fact Cas has a whole new set of memories.

Sure, problems have arisen. Like the time Castiel is mildly offended that Dean doesn’t remember that he takes honey in his coffee. Or the slight issue when Cas and Sam both try to sit shotgun. Or how confused Castiel is to open up Dean’s closet and find that none of his clothes are inside.

The solution to the latter problem is that Cas has simply taken to wearing Dean’s clothes, a solution that has resulted in more than a few double takes from both Sam and Dean when they don’t expect to find Cas sitting around the corner in ratty sweatpants and a worn AC/DC shirt.

Harder still is getting used to the physical displays of affection from Cas. Dean’s almost pulled a knife on Cas twice when the angel wrapped his arms around him from behind. And it’s always surprising when Castiel kisses him, especially when the kisses are random and casual. Even Sam, who doesn’t get nearly the affection that Dean does, is still assaulted by warm, enthusiastic hugs on a regular basis.

But Cas is happy, so they let it happen.

A week passes, the Winchesters falling into an unsteady rhythm with Cas. Dean constantly swings from guilty to twitterpated. One moment isolating himself for filling Castiel’s life with an entire lie, the next, beaming from ear to ear as he showers Castiel with praise and kisses.

It’s not until Castiel voices his confusion at the lack of photographs around the Bunker (apparently in his memory, they had far more group pictures proudly displayed in various locations) that Sam finally pulls Dean aside.

“We have to do something.”

“Why?” Dean fidgets, knowing full well this means the oddly happy bubble they’ve let form is about to burst.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Sam crosses his arms, scowling down at Dean in a way that somehow seems as though he is the older sibling. It’s strangely disconcerting.

“I just…” Dean sighs, “He’s happy. We’re happy, I mean, more so than before. And changing things…” he runs a hand down his face, “What if that takes it all away?”

Sam’s brow furrows, his forehead creasing as he picked up a random book on a nearby desk, flipping through the pages aimlessly. “Is it really happiness if he’s living a lie?”

“...is it a lie if I want this to be real life?”

“Do you really want this to be real life? You can’t remember your first date, or your romantic highlights. You don’t know the pet names or Cas’ secrets or any of the things he’s shared with you. Hell, you only watched your first kiss!”

It’s true. All of it. Dean has felt oddly disappointed every time Cas has referenced something he doesn’t know about and he’s hated knowing that this relationship might always feel slightly off. And the guilt has been growing increasingly more annoying, but that should go away eventually, right?

Dean rubs his thumb against the wood grain of the desk, staring at the smudge the oils on his finger creates. “What are we supposed to tell him?” he mutters, spreading the smudge still further. It feels oddly indicative of his life now, one simple mistake (was it a mistake? Even now Dean isn’t sure) lead to something he couldn’t have even imagined.

Sam sighs. “I don’t know, maybe the truth?”

“Right,” Dean snaps, rubbing the wood more and more vigorously, “Because there are words adequate for explaining that incident to him.”

“Dean…”

It’s too much. Dean pushes to his feet, the chair squeaking loudly across the hardwood floor. He’s surprised it doesn’t topple over and for a moment Dean pauses, watching it wobble in place. It rocks back and forth before finally settling right side up. Once the chair stops moving, Dean starts, pacing furiously.

He never thought a couple weeks ago that he’d be facing a decision this complicated. Hell, Dean hadn’t even considered that he’d be close to Cas, much less his boyfriend. And it had happened easily. Without him even trying. Which, Dean knew, was a result of supernatural forces, but still. No risk of rejection, no fear of losing Cas forever, he was here with him. He loved him. Dean would sell his soul all over again to keep that relationship.

“You’re avoiding the topic,” Sam says gently, following him around the table.

“I’m serious, Sam,” Dean snaps, “What am I supposed to say? I’m sorry, Cas. I changed all of your memories to alter the fact that in real life, I treated you like shit!”

“You what?”

The familiar gravelly voice knocks the air out of Dean’s chest and he stops dead in his tracks, turning slowly to see Castiel standing in the doorway, his entrance muffled by the thick woolen socks he’s wearing.

“Cas…” Dean gasps, a million thoughts racing through his head at once. The words, however, don’t come out. And it’s all too much, Castiel’s blue eyes trained on him, no doubt Sam’s eyes too, both waiting for him to say something.

Dean doesn’t say anything. Instead, he runs.

 

\---

 

He hasn’t run this fast, or this hard, for a while. When he pushes past Cas in his rush out of the study, Dean had simply set to run to the garage. But once he’d stumbles in there, it still feels too close. Dean makes his way out the door and begins to run, shoving his way through a nearby corn field.

Dean isn’t sure how long it’s been before the sweat starts rolling from his temples, dripping into his already stinging eyes. He’s grateful for the running, grateful for being out of shape as his sobs can be disguised as heavy breathing and his tears merely seen as sweat.

Once he’s run past the field, Dean collapses against a tree. It’s not because he’s tired, per se, but the weight of losing Castiel is so great that Dean’s slightly surprised he hasn’t been pulled down to Hell from it.

No doubt Sam has already explained to Castiel how terribly Dean has violated his memory. No doubt Castiel has already decided just how terrible of a person Dean really is. No doubt Cas has already up and left, probably never to return.

Maybe it would be better if Dean just sunk straight into Hell. He belongs there anyway.

It feels strange, crying over the loss of a relationship he barely had, but somehow it feels like that’s the way it’s always been. As though observing all those altered memories really did erase the past and replace it with a much happier version.

 _But it was all a lie_ , Dean reminds himself bitterly, _Cas loved you because you built a world where he would_.

Dean buries his head in his hands and tries not to pray. Because if he prays, he’ll only be begging Cas for things like love, like forgiveness….things he didn’t deserve. The tears stop after a minute or two and Dean works hard to calm his breathing, a trick that Sam had taught him one night after a particularly traumatic hunt.

Still, even as his body calms, Dean can feel the utter darkness of despair settling in his very heart. Cas is gone. Cas is gone. The thought pulses with his heartbeat and Dean knows that it is entirely his fault.

It’s almost silent in the field, aside from the soft chatter of insects in the distance. Dean left his phone in the Bunker. Thank goodness. The last thing he wants is to deal with frantic calls from Sam.

He sits against the tree for a long time, long enough to get drowsy as the sun begins to set, when the sound of a twig snapping jerks him awake. Dean scrabbles around for a weapon, but finds only a stick. It’ll have to do.

He hefts it in his palm, just in case the company turns out to be not so friendly, and pushes to standing.

“It’s, uh, behind you,” Castiel’s voice rings out loudly in the empty field and Dean can’t help but leap away in surprise.

“Shit, Cas!” Dean can’t help but swear, Castiel was the last person he expected to run into, “Why are you here?”

Castiel is still wearing the AC/DC shirt and sweats, his thick socks no doubt at risk of growing incredibly filthy the longer he spends out in the dirt. What Dean doesn’t understand, however, is that Cas doesn’t look angry. He looks, dare Dean say, nervous. And Dean can’t figure out why.

“I--” Cas bites his tongue, “Sam and I were worried about you.”

The correction isn’t lost on Dean, who visibly wilts. “Tell Sam I’m fine. And then I guess you’re free to go.”

Cas’ brow furrows. “Go?”

“Sam’s told you everything by now, right?”

“Yes, but--”

“--then I understand why you want to leave,” Dean interrupts him, not wanting to hear Cas vocalize his reasoning aloud. He knows he’s been a shitty friend, hell, a shitty person in general, but he can’t bring himself to hear Cas say as much.

Cas shuffles a little closer, his fingers opening and closing, sometimes into fists, sometimes clutching the edge of the t-shirt. “What if I do not want to leave?”

Dean gapes. He’s prepared himself for a lot of things, but that question isn’t one of them.

“Unless…” Cas hangs his head, “You want me to leave.”

“Why would I--”

And suddenly Castiel is even closer, interrupting Dean with a desperate intensity that he’s never seen before. “I remembered everything the moment I woke up!” he gasps, blue eyes flicking only briefly to Dean’s face before looking almost anywhere else, “Both sets of memories were crystal clear in my mind, but I thought if I pretended only to remember the false memories that you might…” Cas gulps, “You might still treat me that way.”

Castiel hangs his head. “It was cowardly. And, what’s more, I know that it was wrong to deceive you...I know you have no reason to trust me…”

It hits him that Castiel is the one trying to apologize for being dishonest. Which is completely unfair, given the circumstances.

Dean’s heart is pounding as he gently places a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I trust you with my life, Cas. Hell, I trust you with Sam’s life…” he takes a deep breath before cupping Cas’ chin with his other hand, nudging Castiel to look up at him.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean says, “And I...I know that changing your memories wasn’t the right way to do it. All I wanted was for you to be happy and I got carried away and I know those are just excuses but I…I love you. And if you still want to be with me, real memories and all…”

He’s not even sure what he’s saying, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s babbled this much, but suddenly it doesn’t matter. Cas’ chapped lips are pressed against his own, fingers digging into Dean’s sides as he pulls him close. “Yes,” Castiel whispers, pulling away just enough to say the words before kissing him again, “A thousand times yes.”

As far as first kisses go, Dean’s certain he’s never going to forget this one.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are appreciated greatly.


End file.
